


Golden Lights

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: A little bit of German, Alternate Universe - Magic, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy!Pete, Fluff and Smut, Forest Spirit!Patrick, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Sickfic, Wingfic, also birds, lots of birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: As a newly appointed dream weaver, Pete is all too eager to make his creations the most delicate and fantastical, to make them colorful and impressive, the source of joy, fright, and inspiration. Once the night is over, dreams vanish, sometimes without ever being remembered – oh, but Pete wants more than that.Even if it means venturing into the unknown realms of the forest.It is in the forest where Pete meets a strange little forest spirit, whose golden voice and kind heart make matters very confusing for Pete...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laudanum_cafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_cafe/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LAUDANUM!  
> This fic is for my favorite little Trickysinner and cherished friend <3
> 
> A while back, laudanum and I brainstormed a bit about an AU with a snobby fairy Pete and a sweet little magic Patrick, and voila - after receiving permission to write it, I decided it would make a great birthday gift. Or so I hope!  
> Featuring some ornithology (I do not claim to be an expert in the field though) and some German, because hey. I've been dying for an AU where I can use some German. It's my mother tongue, after all. 
> 
> Artwork done by me. Thanks to Snitches for beta reading!
> 
> Some German words and phrases are used. Check the end notes for translations!

 

 

 

The day Pete officially joined the ranks of the Dream Weavers has been the happiest day so far.

 

Pete belongs to the folk of the fairies, responsible for bending reality as much as their magic allows. From harmless tricks and pranks to colorful illusions – and of course, the position Pete sought ever since he picked up a pen: Creating dreams for every fellow creature able to dream.

Finally, Pete enjoys ultimate freedom of imagination – whatever he can come up with, he can conjure into enchanted words, sure to bring whatever Pete desires dreams of love, of lust, of the deepest and darkest desires, or nightmares dredging up fear, darkness, desperation.

Being the youngest dream weaver appointed, Pete is eager to show off his skills and establish himself as talented and unique.

But Pete can only write what he can imagine – and he soon realizes  he’s lead a sheltered life, as have many of his kind. His fairy folk resides in a beautiful town, soft and peaceful meadows nearby, unbothered by humans or fellow magic creatures. It provides everything Pete has ever needed, and he’s never ventured out much.

 

One day, as Pete sits before the blank pages of his notebook, he decides that has been a mistake. He yearns for adventure, for new experiences, something grand and unknown that’ll leave him able to weave dreams as magnificent and mysterious as no other fairy could write them.

 

Pete decides a journey into the forest will give him just the right kind of inspiration.

 

Pete hasn’t set foot in the forest before; it is the kingdom of the animals, of gnomes and wood spirits, of foreign and mystical magical creatures that the fairies have no interest in interacting with. The fairies rule over their own land, they’ve tamed nature, combined magic with practicality and comfort. Their masterfully crafted boots step on stone, their bodies are caressed by finely-woven, beautiful clothes, careful architecture and magic barriers protecting their delicate wings from harsh weather and keeping them safe from harm.

The forest is foreign territory, and the fairies do not like it.

The humans, though, foolish creatures that they are, they have no mind for delicate magical borders and different magical creatures and their powers. Humans like to trespass, they seem to enjoy hours upon hours of walking in the forest, for reasons Pete has yet to figure out. Sometimes, the humans traveling by ask him for the way, and as a natural prankster like many of his kind, Pete takes the greatest pleasure in sending them to the wild paths of the forest, where they are bound to get lost. He thinks that might teach them a good lesson about avoiding mindless danger.

No, Pete prefers the clear paths and paved roads of his village.

Perhaps, Pete would have stayed on them forever, were it not for another common trait in fairies so often causing trouble: Curiosity.

As a newly appointed dream weaver, Pete is all too eager to make his creations the most delicate and fantastical, to make them colorful and impressive, the source of joy, fright, and inspiration. Once the night is over, dreams usually vanish, sometimes without ever being remembered – oh, but Pete wants more than that.

Even if it means venturing into the unknown realms of the forest.

 

Although no cloud obstructs the sun, the trees barely let a beam pass through their branches. Pete walks in the cool shadow, steps softened by the earth. Pete frowns a little as he notices his pristine boots have a fine gray layer of dust and dirt all over them already, and it takes a lot of effort and attention to make sure his delicate, embroidered clothes don’t get ripped by a nearby tree branch. With great care, Pete makes sure to keep his shimmering wings pressed close to his body, for they are as beautiful, yet as fragile as a butterfly’s, easily hurt if not protected from the dangerous nature around him.

There are trees as far as the eye can see, tall and quiet, their roots a constant tripping hazard. Pete walks on a paths no doubt walked by many creatures before, and yet the forest merely seems to tolerate his presence; the roots of the trees, the flowers and plants around him, they seem all too eager to reclaim the land that Pete is walking on right now. Everything around Pete is strange and unfamiliar, the bird chirping, the wind whispering through the leaves, chattering away as nature wonders what a fairy is looking for in the woods.

So far, Pete has not figured out why humans crave to wander around the forest so much.

Just as he is about to give up and turn back home, the forest offers him an answer.

Faintly through the rustle of the leaves and branches, a sweet voice, neither human nor animal, is singing. Pete cannot make out the words, can barely make out the source of where that sweet, sweet singing is coming from, but he has the immediate, intense need to find the source of it, and see who carries golden sunbeams and saccharine promises in their voice.

When he comes closer, Pete can hear it more clearly, and can make out that whoever is singing, they sing in a language foreign to Pete.

 

_Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten,_

_sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten._

_Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger sie schießen_

_mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!_

 

_Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket,_

_doch alles in der Still', und wie es sich schicket._

_Mein Wunsch und Begehren kann niemand verwehren,_

_es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!_

 

_Und sperrt man mich ein im finsteren Kerker,_

_das alles sind rein vergebliche Werke._

_Denn meine Gedanken zerreißen die Schranken_

_und Mauern entzwei: Die Gedanken sind frei!_

  


Even though Pete cannot make much sense of these words, they sound grand and alluring to him, and the precious voice giving life to them only underlines that impression.

 

Finally, the branches and plants give way to a small glade. What Pete sees there is a strange-looking boy; who, startled by the clumsy noises Pete makes as he tries to find his way through trees and plants and roots, stops the lovely singing, and turns his head to see who interrupted him.

 

Neither human nor a fellow fairy, Pete thinks the boy to be little local forest spirit, perhaps. With his pale skin and hair, he looks drained of color, like he’s used to stay in the shadows of the woods. A pair of wings sprouts from his back, small and feathered – different from Pete’s marvelous fairy wings, these are more like a bird’s wings. Yes, they actually look like the wings of the birds the boy was singing to, similar in shape and with merely a tiny splash of orange amidst the unassuming gray and brown. They flap a little in surprise, before neatly folding away.

The boy’s blue eyes are fixed on Pete, widened in surprise, but with the same friendly curiosity that lays in his voice when he speaks up. “Willkommen, Fremder,” he says, and even though he is no longer singing, he still sounds gentle and melodic. “Ich bin Patrick, der hiesige Waldgeist. Du suchtest mich, und fandest mich – sprich, was ist dein Begehr?”

Startled, Pete takes a step back, unconsciously flapping his wings as well. He’s not quite sure what the boy has told him exactly, but from what Pete understood, it was an introduction. “I am Peter, third of my name, eldest son of Peter the second,” Pete says cautiously, “you may call me Pete. Wait, do you even speak the common tongue?”

“Ah! Natürlich!” The boy clasps his hands, and smiles. “I do speak the languages of many travelers, indeed. Let me repeat: my name is Patrick, and I am the local forest spirit. You looked for me, and you found me – tell me, what is it you desire? Are you lost? Do you need my help?”

“I need no such thing,” Pete answers snottily. Fairies may not be home in the forest, but that doesn’t mean he’s that easily beaten by a few trees and foreign fauna. “I heard you sing, and wanted to see who was the owner of such an impressive voice. I’ve heard many of my kind sing, but no one sounded like you did.”

The forest spirit – Patrick was his name? - smiles even brighter, with a light pink coloring his pale cheeks now. “You came all the way to pay me a compliment? How nice of you!”

It is Pete’s turn to blush now. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely curious,” he says hastily, eyes narrowed as he glares at the little forest spirit.

“Well, I am glad you found me, and that my singing entertained you.” Patrick’s tone remains genuinely happy, and he doesn’t seem to mind when Pete cautiously comes closer.

The clothes that Patrick wears are weird and unlike anything Pete has ever seen. He’s used to luxurious fabrics, colorful patterns, each item of fairy clothing itself a masterful display of their maker’s skills. Nothing like that is reflected in anything the little forest spirit is wearing. His outfit is a weird mixture of all kinds of fabrics and clothes, layers and layers of them combined for warmth and storage space – with pockets everywhere, filled with whatever it is a forest spirit carries around in the woods, sometimes decorated with feathers, fur, or leather. A bag is slung over Patrick’s shoulder, adorned with feathers and fur as well, and it seems to be filled with mushrooms, berries, and whatever other food the flora has to offer. All his clothes look worn-out, some a little too big and shapeless, some patched up, mostly kept in brown, gray, or other dusty colors that blend right in with the forest around him. There’s a bit of ginger in his hair, just as there is in his feathers, but otherwise, he looks rather pale and dull.

 

“I have never seen someone like you,” Patrick says curiously as he eyes Pete as well. “You are not a creature of the forest, are you, Pete?”

“No. I belong to the proud folk of the fairies, and usually, I prefer to stay in the safe bounds of our village.” Pete kind of wants to reach out and touch Patrick’s clothes, feel the weird-looking material they’re made of. As big as his curiosity might be, he’s not sure how powerful or how friendly this forest spirit is, after all. Patrick does look rather harmless though, with his big smile and big blue eyes, and the chirping birds sitting on his shoulder.

“Such beautiful wings!” Patrick marvels when he catches sight of Pete’s wings. “I’ve never seen a pair like these.”

Proudly, Pete unfolds them, and with two, three powerful yet delicate flaps, he’s hovering in the air. He’s barely a foot up in the air, it’s just for show; the glade allows him to stretch his wings, but Pete doesn’t want to come too close to the pesky tree branches or whatever other danger might lurk in their shadows. The little forest spirit looks at them with innocent awe.

“I’ve never seen wings like yours as well,” Pete says, not without a bit of condescension. “Are you sure you’re not a bird spirit?”

Patrick doesn’t appear to be bothered by Pete’s snide remark. “I am a forest spirit,” he repeats patiently, “although, yes, I take special care of the songbirds. My fellow brothers and sisters may each have their own favored animal that is closer to them than others, but do not be confused, we cherish each animal and care equally for everyone that comes to us for help.”

“How noble of you.” Pete gently lands back on the grass, without tucking his wings away just yet – he likes the awe in Patrick’s pretty eyes as he looks at them. The little wood spirit might not see too much of the sun, but a part of the daylight sky is captured in the blue of his iris. “And what do you take in return?”

Confused, Patrick cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

Pete rolls his eyes. “What is the price for your help?”

“The price for my help?” Patrick sounds even more confused. “I would never ask for anything in return. This is my duty, and I am happy to oblige. I trust in the kindness of those I help – and if their heart has no gratitude or friendliness to spare for me, I see no point in taking anything from them, for their heart and soul is empty already.”

“So, you're a fool then!” Pete exclaims, equally confused now. “If someone doesn’t value my effort, I make sure they pay me double. And if they refuse, I shall punish them with the worst and most sleep-depriving nightmares I can think of.”

“I am sure your way of thinking has its reasons,” Patrick says with a gentle smile and a nod. “But for me, it works differently. Animals are kind, and if I encounter a rude human, I forgive them – either they are lost and scared and not in proper control of themselves, or they are cold and cruel and do not merit to be wasted a second thought on. Perhaps, they deserve punishment, but I cannot be the one who delivers it. It is not in my nature – I prefer the silence of the woods, the kindred spirits of the animal kingdom, and the peace of my own heart.”

That sounds rather weak and silly to Pete. None of his fellow fairy folk would ever talk like that, and Pete doesn't know what to make of a meek little creature like this forest spirit.

Patrick raises his head; it seems he has picked up on a sound Pete hasn’t heard, or hasn’t been able to filter out through all the other unknown voices of the woods. “Forgive me, we must part ways now,” Patrick says, “come and find me again another time, I would like to learn more about you.”

With that, Patrick leaves, the sight of him soon lost among the heavy foliage. Pete walks home alone, with more questions on his mind than when he entered the forest.

  


At first, Pete hadn’t planned to visit the forest again. But now, it has piqued his interest, the common trait of a fairy’s curiosity urging him to take up the journey once more. It is for inspiration only, Pete tells himself, to improve his craft and tell new tales in the dreams he weaves.

Perhaps, he will meet the weird little forest spirit once more?

So, Pete prepares for another journey into the unknown, despite his family’s warning and the weird looks he gets from the other fairies. Three humans, dressed in red and chattering vividly, walk the same path as him, mistakenly assuming Pete to be a helpful fellow human, and Pete sends them off into the forest as well. Let’s see who fares better in the forest, Pete thinks smugly to himself, and perhaps, it might teach the humans not to breach into fairy territory again.

Autumn is just around the corner, and the lush green of the trees and plants slowly starts to turn into gold here and there. Pete feels like he’s being watched by the local animals, he swears he can hear gentle paws and the chirping of curious birds, but none of them show their faces to the intruding fairy. Lost in thoughts as he follows the path, Pete ends up in another small glade, and lo and behold, before he knows it, he sees ivory skin and brown feathers.

“Impossible!” Pete exclaims as a greeting when he realizes he has indeed found Patrick. “This forest is so big and wide. How come I run into you again?”

Patrick seems less surprised than Pete; he gets up from his tree stump, and most of the birds around him fly off to their own lairs. Two remain seated on his shoulders, one sitting on the grass to his feet. They’re very small, barely the size of a fist, with blue-white feathers on their body and yellow on their chest. Pete has never seen birds like these, he’s only used to pigeons and corvids.

“I can only be found if one not only looks for me, but also wants to find me.” Patrick smiles sweetly. “And it seems you wanted to find me. Ah! Welch ein erfreuliches Wiedersehen!”

Flustered, Pete clears his throat. “I don’t speak your strange languages. And I was merely curious.”

“As am I.” With great care in each step, Patrick approaches him. “Say, did you meet the group of three humans, too? Dressed in red?”

“Three humans, dressed in red?” Pete grins to himself. “Indeed, they happen to cross my path earlier today. I sent them your way, as I do with all meddling humans.”

“So it was you, after all!” Patrick furrows his brows. “Were it not for my help, they would have been lost.”

Pete’s grin only widens. “Deservedly so,” he says, waves his hand. “They stick their noses into everything, and despite possessing no magic abilities, their hubris knows no bounds. And I can’t send them towards my village! For coming too close to our territory, it’s only fair to teach them a little lesson.”

“I wish you would not do that.” Patrick sighs, and the tiny birds on his shoulders coo to comfort him. Their high voices sound clear and whimsical. “They get lost, and it takes me a great amount of time and effort to guide them to safety again.”

Irritated, Pete crosses his arms over his shoulders, and flaps his wings. “It’s merely a prank,” he defends himself, “not my fault those humans can’t help themselves.”

Patrick shakes his head, says nothing. He kneels down, gently takes the bird that sat by his feet into his hands. Three little flowers spring from the earth where the forest spirit’s fingers touch the ground. Patrick unfold his wings while he coos to the bird in his melodic voice, gently kisses the bird’s small blue wing. The little colorful bird coos back, suddenly a lot more animated, mimics Patrick’s wing movements a few times, before being confident enough to fly off. Patrick watches it with a content smile.

It makes Pete lose his fear or the foreign forest spirit. No doubt Patrick is a gentle creature, and even if he intended harm to Pete for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem powerful enough to inflict any kind of real injury or curse.

“My work here is done,” Patrick says as he turns to Pete again. “The forest never sleeps, and I am needed elsewhere. Would you like to accompany me?”

Pete takes a step back, and shakes his head. He has no desire to walk with a stranger into unknown territory. Even if said stranger is a mere little forest spirit with a beautiful voice.

Patrick looks a little disappointed, but smiles knowingly nonetheless. “Next time, then. I can sense your curiosity, fairy, so when you come into my forest again, I am sure you will find me.”

With that, Patrick folds his wings, the draught a whisper against Pete’s face. Before he can protest the forest spirit’s announcement about a re-encounter, Patrick is gone.

 

At home, Pete writes. Not the nightmares he thought the forest would inspire, but tales of a green sky, chirping birds, and beautiful boys. He writes of the blue birds’ colorful feathers and amusing chirping, he tries to capture the joy and liveliness of the forest spirit’s voice as he joins the birds for their songs, wants nothing more than to share the earthy scent of the trees, the sparkle of the light as it falls through the leaves, the golden voice that so brightens his heart.

 

The forest spirit’s parting words prove to be true – for Pete finds him again next time he ventures into the woods.

“You must see me coming,” Pete growls as he sees the now-familiar strange clothes and small bird wings. “Is precognition part of your magic repertoire?”

“It is not,” Patrick answers patiently. He is leaning against a tree trunk, with his bag full of herbs, mushrooms, and whatever else a forest spirit apparently deems important enough to gather, intently watching a bird’s nest while slowly unfolding his wings. Every branch close to Patrick is in full bloom, adorned with lush green leaves again as opposed to the red and gold the forest is decked out in these days. “It was you who wanted to look for me, and who wanted to find me. Hence why we crossed paths again.” Pete grumbles something in response, but Patrick keeps his eyes fixed on the bird’s nest, motions him to be silent first, then to come closer.

“Be quiet, and watch,” Patrick whispers, blue eyes still fixed on the chattering birds, “we are privileged to see a very important moment in the life of these children.”

It is now that Patrick can make out two adult birds and three smaller ones, excitedly folding and unfolding their wings, mimicking their parents. Their feathers are black, but with their rounded, small bodies and yellow ring around the eyes, they look nothing like the corvids Pete knows.

“ _Amseln_ ,” Patrick says upon Pete’s confused look, and starts to sing: “ _Ein Vogel wollte Hochzeit machen in dem grünen Walde. Fidiralala, fidiralala, fidiralalalalala! Die Drossel war der Bräutigam, die Amsel war die Braute_...”

 

“I’m not familiar with this song,” Pete admits, “and as much as your words intrigue me, I don’t understand them.”

“Oh, Die Vogelhochzeit! It is but a silly song about birds getting married. A blackbird, as you call them, is to be the bride. I just – you made me think of it...” Patrick blushes intensely at these words, which is endearing. He turns away to hide his face, and watch the blackbirds again.

Two of the chicks apparently have more experience, as they soon join their parents in the air.

The last baby bird is the smallest of them all, and seems the most insecure. He helplessly hops around, cautiously unfolds his wings, neither enough to get him to fly. Patrick coos at the little chick, which encourages it to hop onto Patrick’s finger. Patrick unfolds his wings again, and so does the little bird; for a while, the little blackbird keeps mimicking the wing movements of the little forest spirit, until it grows more and more confident, wings flapping as Patrick has already ascended a few inches off the ground. Just a few moments later, the little bird has grasped the technique, and although not yet as graceful as its parents, it manages to fly back from Patrick’s hand to its nest.

 

“How marvelous! You taught it to fly!” Pete exclaims surprised. “But say, what good is that? It was the smallest of its siblings, perhaps it was never meant to fly.”

“That is not for me to judge.” Patrick lands next to Pete, tucks in his wings again. “Perhaps it will have the chance to become an adult and hatch its own chicks, perhaps it will feed a hungry predator’s children. Such is nature and its delicate harmony. I am but a small local forest spirit, I do not decide over the fate of life. All I care for is that my help was needed, and my help was given. What comes tomorrow, neither of us knows; but today, I made these birds’ life a little better, and that is what matters to me.”

“A strange one, you are,” Pete declares. “And such heavy thoughts to weigh down the mind! I think I prefer to weave dreams.”

“I am sure you are excellent at it,” Patrick says with a sweet, honest smile. “And every night, we need to dream, so you and your work are very much needed. But I like what I do, and wish to do nothing else. I find joy in different things than you, Pete.”

“You know what would bring me joy?” Pete is hesitant, yet not a coward, and so he asks: “Can I hear you sing again? I don’t care what tongue you choose for your song, I would just like to hear your voice once more.”

Patrick’s sweet smile brightens upon these words, and he bows down to grab his bag. “I would be happy to fulfill that wish. Let me walk you back to where you entered the forest. I shall sing for you as we walk.”

Despite his apprehension last time, Pete follows the forest spirit. It is obvious by now that Patrick is not the type to play pranks or harbor cruel intentions. And he keeps his promise, his wonderful voice attracting animals from all around to pay them a visit as they walk. And songbirds of all kind soon fill the nearby trees, their chirping and chattering underlining Patrick’s song.

When they reach the end of the forest, Patrick stops singing, and a gentle gesture of his hands beckons the wildlife to stay in its safe habitat. “I must bid you farewell for now,” the forest spirit says, “next time, come search for me again, and I am sure you will find me.”

This time, Pete doesn't want to object.

  


Some time passes before Pete can find the time for another visit to the forest again .The entire forest has slowly changed, as Pete notices. It is less and less green, and more and more red, brown, golden, some trees already shedding their leaves, which cover the ground Pete walks on. He no longer cares that his boots will get dirty, and the clothes he wears are the sturdiest he can find, for the forest does not care for masterful embroidery or delicate silk. That much, the forest has taught the fairy by now.

Far from fire or other heat sources, not protected by walls and bricks anymore, the cold seeps into Pete’s body despite the luxurious velvet draped around it.

Today, the forest looks even stranger. The trees stand mostly naked now, just harsh dark wood and empty branches, with many of the plants and flowers gone. It’s not like Pete has never seen plants or seasons, but never has he seen nature’s effects so vividly as in the forest. Unlike the little forest spirit, a fairy’s magic has little to no effect on flora and fauna, but fairies prefer other kinds of nature as their habitat. Pete is more familiar with the soft grass of endless meadows, with the herbs and flowers planted in barrels for alchemy or agriculture to feed their folk. And as a dream weaver, Pete spends little time even thinking much about nature and her effects on the living; he prefers to read books, scribble endless dreams and stories into his trusted notebook, amuse himself with drink or food.

It is quiet around him, many animals gone over the winter, fled south like many birds or retreated into their lair. Pete wonders what his little forest spirit is up to – he has yet to find him.

Pete is torn out of his thoughts when a harsh wind tears through the silent woods, tugs at his wings. Pete presses them closer to his body as he tries to stay on the path; his wings are too delicate, they aren’t made for these conditions. Then, a snowflake finds its way through the branches, lands on Pete’s nose; followed by another, then one more, and suddenly, the air is filled with white ice crystals, soaking into Pete’s clothes, sticking to his wings, leaving cold kisses on Pete’s bare face.

Distressed, Pete looks around, tries to find his way back. But the snow storm barely lets him see more than a few feet, and it soon covers the floor, where it is not only hard to maneuver through, but also covers the paths Pete usually walks on. There are no walls to keep him safe, no streets to follow to a warm shelter, no fellow fairy to help him out. Far from home and safety, lost in the woods, the harsh snow storm blowing coldness into his body and dangerously tugging at his delicate fairy wings, Pete feels panic taking over him. He blindly stumbles forward, rubs snow out of his eyes, but all he sees is white snow and dark tree trunks, their empty branches like fingers, a hundred hands reaching for Pete. It is truly a nightmare, one Pete is not sure he will awaken of ever again.

 

Pete can only think of one thing to do. “Patrick!” He cries out, his trembling voice lost in the heavy winds of the snow storm. “Patrick…!”

 

All Pete can see is the blinding white of the terribly cold snow, piling up on the ground, sticking to his wings and clothes, caressing his face with the sickly-sweet promise of eternal slumber.

 

The last Pete thinks he sees is a flash of brown and orange feathers, before his knees give in and he sinks down, passing out in the cold bed of snow.

  


 

Pete has no concept of time or space anymore. When he wakes up, he feels delirious, coldness still ruling over his body, leaving him shivering and scared. All he knows is he’s no longer outside in the snowstorm, that he hurts, and that there is someone with him who talks in a quiet, gentle voice and tucks him into heavy, warm blankets. This weird phase of sliding in and out of consciousness lasts for what might be hours, days, weeks – Pete can’t tell, he just shivers, only stops being cold and afraid when his rescuer caresses his cheek and sings a sweet song until Pete blacks out again.

After a while, Pete wakes up again, feeling drained and tired. He’s still cold, so cold, as if his body hasn’t realized it’s no longer stuck in the snowstorm, but his mind is clear as he sits up a little, and tries to take in the situation.

Pete is laying in what appears to be a makeshift bed, made from whatever nature has to offer – from wood, fur, and soft hay to a large patchwork-blanket that looks like it was made from leftover scraps. It is warm and comfortable nonetheless, and Pete drapes it over his body as he sits up with a groan, knees drawn to his chest. He is in what appears to be a small cottage, with walls made out of earth, wood, and stone. It has a solid fireplace in which a fire is currently burning, over that a pot to cook, and an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair nearby. On the walls are shelves, hosting everything from dried plants, pickled vegetables in glass jars, potted plants and many things Pete doesn't know the use for. There are decorations, even, everything from pressed flowers to a collection of feathers. At least Pete assumes they are displayed for sentimental value.

A familiar voice tears him out of his thoughts. “Endlich! Du bist wach!” It is no one but Patrick, the little forest spirit, himself, hurrying over to Pete and sitting down next to him, gently putting his hand on Pete’s forehead. “You’re awake,” Patrick repeats happily, “and your fever has gone down. You had me worried, Pete!”

Confused, Pete looks at him. “Patrick! Is it really you?” He asks weakly. “I called your name, but I couldn’t find you, and then came the snow…”

“Hush, no more worries,” Patrick hurries to calm him down. “What matters is I heard your call, and found you just in time. You were freezing! Your clothes may be pretty, but they are not practical. And you were running around in a heavy snowstorm, with no shelter! What made you do that?”

“I was careless!” Pete shivers, despite the blanket. How come he has a fever, yet feels so cold? “I never knew how ruthless nature could be, and underestimated the weather. I was arrogant – I would have deserved to be punished for that.”

Patrick smiles sweetly at him, carefully reaches out a hand to cup Pete’s face and wipe away a tear. “I do not know what fate intends, and it is pointless to argue. What matters is you needed my help, and I would not and will not rest until I have given that to you. Making a mistake does not merit fatal consequences, even if the forest is a rough place with its own tough rules.” He blushes a little, then adds: “And I am glad I saved you, Pete.”

“Thank you for that,” Pete says with an honest smile. “Tell me, what happened? How long was I delirious?”

“I found you in the snow, unconscious already. You remained unconscious for almost three days. Luckily, we were just close to my lair, and I managed to carry you down here. Over summer and autumn I’ve gathered food, sewn a new quilt, gathered firewood, filled pillows with the down given to me by the birds. I took what nature gave me, so now I am prepared for snow and winter. There were enough blankets to keep the both of us warm, and I had all the herbs for a simple fever medicine. I have never taken care of one of your kind before, but I did my best as I would have done for any creature, and luckily, it worked. You have no frost bites, the fever is going down, and for sure, you will soon recover.” Patrick takes a deep breath, while Pete tries to grasp the full weight of his situation.

“You really saved my life. Again, thank you for that,” Pete repeats, nervously adds: “I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“You being healthy is all the payment I need.” Patrick dismissively waves a hand, before he gets up and walks over to the pot over the fire. “Speaking of, you need to eat. During your delirium, I barely managed to feed you a little broth. Your body needs food and water. Eat, even if you do not feel hungry.”

Patrick comes back with a bowl of stew. It is unlike Pete has ever eaten, yet tastes delicious – especially since Pete feels very, very hungry. Patrick watches him, reminds him to eat slowly, and Pete tries his best to follow that advice, and relish every bite. The bowl is half-empty when Pete stops as a sudden thought struck him.

“What about you, Patrick?” Pete puts down his spoon, looks at the little forest spirit. “You didn’t know I would be here with you, requiring care and food – do you have enough to eat? I will not eat if it means you must starve.”

At first, Patrick seems surprised, but then, he chuckles, shakes his head. “No need to worry,” he answers amused, “I take great care, and while I did not know you would be here with me, I always make sure to have more than enough food in case of any emergency. Nature can be rough, especially in winter, so I am sufficiently prepared. I did not know you would wake up soon, so I ate already. Next time, we can eat together. For now, try to finish your meal, it will give you much-needed strength.”

The stew warms Pete’s belly, and makes him feel a bit more energized. And yet, the coldness prevails in his body.

“I am still cold,” Pete mumbles quietly, “do you have another blanket, perhaps?”

“You may feel cold, but more warmth will not be good for your fever.” Patrick hesitates, then adds: “My magic is not strong enough to cure you completely, but it will warm you from the inside, and help drive out the fever. It requires body contact, though. For the past days, I merely touched your forehead or cheeks – I do not want to lay in bed with you and hold you in my arms to work my magic without knowing you are alright with that.”

Pete pats the space next to him. “I don’t mind you hugging me, especially if it helps this dreadful coldness. Just please promise it won’t tire you too much. I cannot accept your help if it means you must suffer.”

“I am stronger than you think!” Patrick looks adorable with that determined look on his face and his feathered wings puffed up. “Move over, and I shall show you.”

Pete does as told, and Patrick joins him in bed, hugs him gently. Legs entangled, in the forest spirit’s warm embrace, Pete feels himself relax already. And then, Patrick starts to sing:

 

Der Mond ist aufgegangen

Die goldnen Sternlein prangen

Am Himmel hell und klar:

Der Wald steht schwarz und schweiget,

Und aus den Wiesen steiget

Der weiße Nebel wunderbar.

 

Wie ist die Welt so stille,

Und in der Dämmrung Hülle

So traulich und so hold!

Als eine stille Kammer,

Wo ihr des Tages Jammer

Verschlafen und vergessen sollt.

 

 

The foreign words sound beautiful falling from his pretty lips, and Patrick’s voice is as gorgeous as ever. Before Pete falls asleep again, Patrick gently kisses his forehead, a gesture that both lifts some of the fevered haze still plaguing Pete, and suddenly makes him yearn for more kisses. Preferably not only on the forehead. Pete is asleep before he can muse over this thought.

 

 

When Pete wakes up again, Patrick is already up, and fixes them breakfast. The bread tastes delicious, and so does the jam and honey. Afterwards, Pete licks his fingers clean, which makes Patrick blush again before he turns away to clean their plates.

Feeling much stronger than yesterday, Pete sits up, and decides to try to stand up. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet, but manages to stand, and stretch his limbs a little. Patrick watches him, and hurries over to prevent Pete from falling when he takes his first steps.

“See? You will recover,” Patrick says, “be patient, and do no put too much strain on yourself.”

Pete nods, grits his teeth, and with Patrick’s help, he makes it over to the rocking chair by the fire. Content with this progress, Pete falls into the chair, thankful for the warmth of the fire.

“One more thing,” Patrick says, now with nervousness in his voice, “I did not dare to tell you yesterday, when you were still weak and agitated. When you fought your way through the snow storm, one of your wings got damaged...”

“What do you mean?” Pete springs up again, leans on the back of the chair for support. Slowly, he unfolds his wings, trying to figure out if he can feel any sort of pain. They’re a bit stiff after all these days of being folded, but Pete cannot see a hole or missing piece.

Patrick points to the upper right wing. “It got torn,” he explains, “forgive me, but I am not familiar with the wings of a fairy. The injury was too strange, too severe for my magic to heal it instantly, so I treated it as I do with the injured butterflies in spring. I took the thinnest needle and my finest magic thread, and sewed it back together.”

Pete takes a closer look at his right wing. Indeed, he can make out a line of fine black thread. Patrick’s needlework rivals the most skilled fairy, as Pete feels no pain, and the wing, while damaged, looks like it can grow back together.

Patrick eyes him nervously. “Did I do right?”

“Do right? Patrick, not only did you save my life, you saved my wings, too!” Pete feels so relieved, he’s close to crying. “My wings are very delicate, but with your skills and quick thinking, they have a good chance of healing. Again, I don’t know how to thank you!”

“You being healthy is all the payment I need.” Patrick smiles at him with genuine happiness, and Pete can’t help but smile back at the cute little forest spirit with the gentle heart and skilled hands.

As it turns out, Pete is not the only one that Patrick is helping. It might be winter, and fewer animals are active, yet the little forest spirit is up on his feet all day to care for everyone who comes to his door. He feeds the birds with seeds and dried berries, heals the broken limb of a squirrel, prepares yet another delicious meal for Pete, and denies any help from him, insisting Pete needs to gather some strength first. So, Pete spends the day sitting by the fire, writing a little into his notebook Patrick saved from being lost in the snow forever, watching Patrick’s routine, dozing off once in a while when his body demands more rest.

In the evening, Patrick fills a big washtub with water, heated up by the forest spirit’s magic, and offers Pete to bathe first. Pete greatly enjoys the hot water, and although Patrick has none of the exotic scented soaps he’s used to from back home, Pete is still happy to clean himself. Afterwards, Patrick lends him clothes. Their material feels strange against Pete’s skin, they seem sturdier and more worn-out than what he usually wears.

“Some, I sew myself. Mostly, I like to pick up what the humans leave behind,” Patrick explains when Pete inquires about his weird mix of clothing. “Sometimes, they forget their belongings, sometimes, they get rid of perfectly usable clothes. And I find the human garments to be so fascinating! Way more variety than what I could ever achieve. So, I collect them, patch them up, re-use them if possible. The forest provides me with leather and fur, and many grateful birds have left me a feather to show their gratitude, some of which I like to use to adorn my clothes with. They might not be as pretty as yours, but they serve their purpose.”

“You are an interesting little creature.” Pete grins at Patrick, who looks away, flustered. Pete could get used to having that effect on him. “And I learned that pretty clothes make little sense in the forest – what good is their beauty if they’re too delicate to withhold the snag of a branch, tear and break easily, don’t provide warmth and protection against the weather?”

Patrick nods, cheeks still pink, then insists it’s bedtime. “Your fever has gone down. I am not sure if you want me to work my magic again. I can sleep elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Pete repeats, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that while I am prepared to feed and care for more than myself, I still only have one bed.” Patrick’s blush deepens, and he nervously chews on his plump lower lip. “The nights before today’s, I slept on the rocking chair by the fire.”

“You weird little thing! Letting me take your food, care, and even your bed! And you still ask nothing in return!” Pete can’t help but be surprised. No fairy would ever give that much without asking for something in return. While Patrick’s kind might not actively ask for compensation, Pete’s own upbringing makes him protest at the thought of just carelessly exploiting the forest spirit. He wants to give something back in return for all of Patrick’s kindness. “I can’t demand of you to sleep in that chair again. Your bed is big enough, join me.”

Hesitant, but not unwilling, Patrick follows the request.

“There’s no need for you to exhaust your magic,” Pete whispers when Patrick lays next to him, “but I wouldn't mind if you just hugged me again.”

Patrick looks at him with big blue eyes, before he rolls over into Pete’s open arms.

Pete blames Patrick’s magic for making him feel all warm and peaceful and making his heart beat faster as he embraces the forest spirit.

 

The next day, Pete is strong enough to walk on his own, and while he doesn’t dare to flap his wings or even try to fly, the stitched-up part shows no sign of inflammation. Pete decides to keep them safely folded to his body for now, hoping his own magic combined with Patrick’s care will let the injured part grow back together.

Now that the fever has vanished, Pete feels restless just laying or sitting around, and follows Patrick around, helping whenever he can. Together, they feed the birds that gathered outside the little cottage; after listening to their chatter, Patrick rushes out with the promise of being back soon. He returns carrying a tiny bird in his hands. It chirps weakly, and Patrick coos back at it while he takes it inside, places it on the table for further inspection.

The little bird looks weak and malnourished, some of its feathers in disarray, some missing, its right wing sticking out in a very wrong manner, and he favors to hop around on his left leg, indicating his right leg is hurt, too. “Poor boy,” Patrick whispers as he takes the bird back into his hand, gently pecks a kiss to its small head. “What a rough time you must have had!”

Despite its small size, it seems to be an adult, adorned by gray and brown feathers with a splash of orange. Pete takes a closer look at the wing, and even though one of them is broken and its feathers messed up, he recognizes the shape.

“This bird – its wings look just like yours!” Pete looks at Patrick, who nods as he strokes over the bird’s wings. “Tell me, what’s its name? What bird are you?”

“Ich bin ein Rotkehlchen,” Patrick coos more to the bird than to Pete. The bird coos back, and then Patrick turns to Pete again. “A robin, that is the name you are looking for, and the species of birds that lend me their wings. We may not be as well-known for our songs as a nightingale, nor for feathers as colorful as a parrots or wings as majestic as a swan’s, but I am happy to be who I am.”

“As you should be,” Pete exclaims, “you’re the kindest person I ever met, and I don’t care what others said, your strange little wings are as beautiful as your songs. Perhaps it took me some time to open my heart and realize that, but now I can see it clearly and without doubt.”

The bright, joyful smile and flushed cheeks his compliments earn Pete are the prettiest sight to behold, and make his heart beat faster again.

With skilled hands, gentle care, and a spark of his magic, Patrick heals the robin’s broken wing, as well as its leg. Still, the tiny bird is weak and exhausted, so Patrick builds it an impromptu nest of soft clothes and dried leaves. “Stay with me as long as you want,” Patrick tells the bird, who seems to understand what Patrick is saying, and fluffs up its feathers as it seats itself in the little nest. “Same goes for you,” Patrick says to Pete, who watches him and the little robin with great interest. “Stay and rest for as long as you wish. Of course, whenever you want to go back home, I’ll provide you with everything needed for the journey, and walk you back to a safe path.” Patrick sounds honest, if a little sad.

“I will happily accept your hospitality. I don’t think I could make it back to my village in my condition, anyway.” Indeed, Pete doesn’t feel strong enough for a long walk home through the snow, and although Patrick patched up the tear in his wing, it’s still very fragile – one gust of the harsh winter wind could be enough to tear it again, and ruin any chance of Pete ever being able to fly again. “Besides,” Pete continues with unusual shyness, “I quite liked our time together so far. You’re so fascinating! I greatly enjoy your company, I want to learn more about you, hear another song, hug you again...”

Once more, Patrick blushes at this display of affection, pale cheeks turning pink as he mumbles: “Es wäre mir ein Vergnügen...” Given how Patrick smiles and blushes, Pete assumes that’s a good thing to say.

 

The rest of the day goes by peacefully. Pete helps to chop plants and mushrooms he’s never seen before, watches how Patrick turns it into a creamy and frankly delicious casserole.

Afterwards, Patrick heads out again, and Pete feels very proud to be entrusted to take care of the little robin. He feels drawn to the small creature, perhaps because they both share the fate of a broken wing, perhaps because they both were lucky enough to be rescued by the dutiful forest spirit granting them his hospitality. Perhaps, also because the bird’s brown and orange feathers remind Pete so much of Patrick.

Pete feeds the bird with dried berries, and, curious as he is, wonders what else Patrick’s pantry has to offer. The robin now trusts him enough to hop into his outstretched hand – and it’s so tiny, it fits perfectly onto Pete’s palm! - and together, they explore what other food there is. There are sacks of weirdly shaped vegetables that look like potatoes, pickled vegetables in large jars, jam in every color from yellow to deep red, dried berries in every shape, more dried herbs and mushrooms, and several potted plants blooming and carrying fruit despite the winter, no doubt thanks to Patrick’s magic. The robin chirps heartily as Pete offers him some of the berries, while Pete sticks to trying the jam. It ranges from tasting fruity to sour, and afterwards, Pete’s belly is full and his curiosity well-satisfied. He gently takes the bird back to the makeshift nest, where is coos contently, fluffy his feathers as it makes itself comfortable. Pete takes one of the books from the shelves – most of them left behind by humans, collected by a curious Patrick – and while they don’t hold up to the artful poetry of the fairies, Pete finds them quite entertaining.

 

At night, Patrick joins him in bed again, and as they lie in each other’s embrace, Pete’s fairy upbringings once more urge him to ask the forest spirit if there is any way he can repay him.

“Perhaps, I can weave you a dream?” Pete proposes before Patrick can deny his offer altogether. “Believe me, I am a master of my craft. I can conjure the most colorful images, the most impressive landscapes and buildings, the most exciting adventures you can think of – you name it, I shall put it to words.”

This time, Patrick hesitates. “Indeed, there is a dream I can think of,” he whispers shyly; his cheeks are flushed pink again, and for a moment, he seems uncertain if he should give voice to his wish. “There is a dream,” Patrick repeats quietly, “one I keep thinking about all day, and one I would be happy to dream – in it, I see you, Pete, and you are giving me a kiss on the lips. Dreaming a wonderful dream of you kissing me would make me the happiest forest spirit ever.”

Pete takes a deep breath, but there is no way that Patrick would ever play a prank on him. He means every word he says, and Pete’s heart beats faster than ever before. “I can do more than weave you a dream about that,” Pete answers in a shaky voice, “I can make that dream come true, right now.”

“I do not wish for you to kiss me out of obligation,” Patrick says through gritted teeth, his eyes full of want, but his precious heart still holding on to his morals.

“I won’t,” Pete assures him with a small smile, “the only reason I want to kiss you is because I want to – because you’re kind-hearted and caring, you’re soft and pretty, and when I hear your golden voice or look into your blue eyes, I feel the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Oh, Pete...” Patrick smiles back at him, and then he leans in to let Pete kiss him on his pretty pink lips. Their kiss slow and sweet, tasting of ripe berries and dark earth, it’s the whisper of the forest and the enchantment of the most marvelous dream coming to life.

When they part, Pete gingerly traces his thumb over Patrick’s damp lower lip. “Would you like to do that again, too?” Pete whispers, and Patrick replies with the happiest smile brightening his face, before he leans in for another kiss.

 

There are so many more things Pete wants to do with the pretty boy in his arms, but Patrick seems content with just kissing for now. Another time, Pete thinks to himself, before he hugs Patrick tighter, and falls asleep after one last goodnight kiss.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome back to part II of this little story! Thank you all so much for your kind feedback. It means so much to me!
> 
> Happy birthday part II to the lovely laudanum!
> 
> And thanks to Snitches for your endless patience with me as my beta reader!

 

The next day, the little forest spirit is a little braver. Though blushing all the time, Patrick kisses Pete whenever there’s an opportunity – be it to wish him a good morning, or to kiss away a speck of jam on Pete’s lip, or simply because they look at each other with a knowing smile. He’s a bit shyer when it comes to touches, unsure about the customs and boundaries of the fae folk, but Pete encourages him gently, takes his hand, slides an arm around his waist, hugs him. While they explore each other’s company, they continue to do the daily chores: Patrick feeds the hungry wildlife, with Pete eager to help, they cook a scrumptious stew out of everything Pete is curious to try, and anything else that needs to be done to brave the harsh winter. The little rescued robin, livelier now than yesterday, hops around already, singing sweetly from time to time. Patrick joins the song of the bird once in a while, and sings Pete more songs in strange languages, giggling at Pete’s awestruck expression when he hears Patrick’s voice.

Sitting down by the fire in the afternoon, Pete opens his notebooks, and writes about the endless glittering white snow, of the dozen different songs of colorful birds, he writes about the smell of wood, the soft feel of moss, and brave little forest spirits.

Everything else he and Patrick share though, Pete keeps to himself. That is not merely to be squandered as a stranger’s dream, it’s not something to carelessly share. No, each of their kisses, touches, smiles is theirs only, better than any dream Pete could ever weave. Despite the cold winter outside, his heart is blossoming the more he falls in love with Patrick.

 

Once the night has stolen away the daylight, most animals retreat into their lair, and Patrick gets some rest. After another shared meal, Pete can’t help but give voice to his curiosity.

“Your wings,” Pete says, “they’re so different from mine. They fascinate me – can I touch?”

Patrick looks utterly adorable as he blushes again. “They are simply feathers,” he says, humble as ever, “but if it interests you that much...”

Pete carefully reaches out a hand to stroke over the feathers. They’re smooth and soft, yet sturdy, clearly more suited for a life in the forest than Pete’s. Layers and layers of different sized and shaped feathers, varying in colors, and a splash of orange – Pete has to take back his initial snobby attitude towards Patrick’s wings. They might not be like his, but that doesn't mean they aren’t beautiful in their own way. Slowly, Patrick opens them up, unfolds them to their full size, and although his wings are smaller than Pete’s, they’re stunning, a work of beauty and precision.

“Nature is marvelous,” Pete concludes, fingers tracing over the incredibly soft downs near Patrick’s shoulder, “and so are your wings, and everything else about you, little forest spirit. In my arrogance, I underestimated you greatly!”

Patrick smiles as he watches Pete inspect his wings. “You simply didn’t know me.”

“I’d like to know more about you,” Pete whispers, “and I’d like to touch more of you than just your wings.”

“More…?” Patrick cocks his head. “Do you mean you want to kiss me again?”

“I want to touch more than your wings, and kiss more than your lips. That is, if you want that, too?”

Patrick looks at him with big eyes, torn between shyness and want. “I want that too. And… I want to do the same to you…”

 

Slowly, they undress.

 

Beneath the layers of clothes, Patrick’s body is as pale as his face, with two pink nipples and fine golden hair making a captivating contrast. He’s softer than Pete, with a squishy stomach and thick thighs, perfectly built to wander through the unforgiving woods and to conjure naughty but delicious dreams in Pete’s mind. Shy as he is, Patrick has his back turned to Pete, denying him the view of his dick, but allowing Pete to secretly salivate over his nice ass.

“It has been a long time since anyone has seen me naked,” Patrick mumbles, seemingly unsure of himself. “And I am so different from your kind, are you quite sure you like me?”

“Quite sure indeed,” Pete assures him with a big grin. “Different or not, you are the loveliest sight I’ve ever behold. What about me? I could ask you the same question!”

“Oh, I like it,” Patrick hurries to say, adorably fumbling for words, “I like it – you, I mean – Pete, I think you are very pretty, and -” He stops himself when he notices how Pete’s grin widens. “And I think you are trying to make a fool out of me!”

Pete chuckles upon the confused frown on Patrick’s pretty face. “It is in jest,” he says amused, “you are too cute when you blush.”

Patrick shakes his head, muttering something about Pete being the real fool. Pete offers a kiss as an apology, and Patrick gladly reciprocates, before ushering Pete to sit down on the big bed. Pete leans back, lets Patrick’s eyes wander over his body, smirking when the forest spirit blushes upon seeing his cock. Patrick sits down next to him, still blushing, but his attention caught by something else now.

“I’ve noticed before – there are pictures and words on your skin!” Patrick traces over them - gently, as if he’s afraid they might get smudged. “I’ve never seen such a strange thing.”

“Those are tattoos. It is a custom of my people,” Pete explains, and chuckles when Patrick furrows his brows upon noticing that indeed, the ink under his skin is permanent, and withstands the touch of his hand without smudging. “For decoration, or to preserve memories, whatever we choose. With the right care, they’ll last a lifetime.”

After some careful inspection, Patrick leans forward, gently kisses the thorns around Pete’s neck. Encouraged by Pete’s moaning, Patrick kisses the inked skin again, ends up pressing open-mouthed, wet kisses to his collar bone, tongue tracing up Pete’s throat. “The tattoos do not taste different than the rest of your skin,” Patrick concludes, which makes Pete laugh as he drags Patrick closer for a kiss on the mouth.

 

“Tell me, Patrick,” Pete inquires when their lips part, “have you ever been with anyone?”

Patrick stays silent for a moment, chews on his lower lip, suddenly looking insecure. “I have not,” he answers in a small voice. “Us forest spirits, we are a bit of a loner group. Not to mention, I am bound to the territory that the Great Wood Gods have decided to entrust me with. I like my way of living, and I have plenty of animal company, but… Rarely do I get to see fellow people of my kind, let alone anyone else. Aside from some humans, very few dare to venture into the dark depth of the forest. Does that – does that bother you?”

“It does not!” To underline his answer, Pete presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead. “I have been with others before,” Pete says, “but I live in a large village, with plenty of company, and well, us fairies, we always seek pleasurable pastimes. You don’t think less of me for that, do you?”

“I do not. I would never judge you for that,” Patrick says sternly, and Pete knows he means it. Patrick’s eyes flicker down to Pete’s crotch, causing his cheeks to turn an even darker shade of pink. “But, I know how it works,” Patrick mumbles, not meeting Pete’s eyes as he says so. “I have often laid awake at night, fantasizing about it...”

“Really?” Pete decides to roll over on his stomach – it’s best to focus on Patrick now, rather than his own growing erection. “You’ve thought about it? What did you think about? How did you imagine it?”

Patrick hides his face behind his hands. “Oh, Pete, this is… You will not judge me, will you?”

“Never,” Pete answers honestly, “especially since I’ve been met with such kindness by you – how could I ever return that with scorn and mockery?”

“I have thought of gentle hands, knowing lips, touching me. Caressing me. Another man’s dick, inside of me, hitting that special place of pleasure...” Patrick lowers his hands, so that they only cover the extensive blush on his cheeks. There’s a glimmer in his blue eyes, the same he had when he asked Pete for a kiss. “Ever since I met you, it has been you who did all that.”

 

“Go on,” Pete says breathlessly.

 

“I did more than just fantasize,” Patrick whispers, “I… I touched myself. Not only did my hands stroke my dick, but… there was more. I felt such a longing for you inside of me, but well, all I had was my own fingers...” Almost absentmindedly, Patrick’s hand wanders down to his crotch, wrapping around his dick. Patrick doesn’t move his hand, but he is hard already, turned on by a few kisses and mere words, and that is the most arousing thing Pete has ever experienced. On top of that, Patrick’s is the most mouthwatering cock Pete has ever seen – long, thick, flushed a deep shade of pink, it makes Pete yearn to touch it.

It’s hard to stay calm and collected when Patrick’s sweet lips deliver such dirty words in such an innocuous voice. “You should show me,” Pete says, trying not to sound too desperate. “I want to know how you touched yourself – I want to see.”

Patrick chews on his lower lip again, leaving it wet and red between his white teeth. Pete longs to kiss it so badly, but he decides to wait for an answer first. “Will that not be boring to you?”

“Believe me,” Pete hurries to say, “it will be the exact opposite of boring.”

Patrick chuckles, half nervousness, half flattered by Pete’s eager words. He gets out of bed, and returns with a small jar cradled in his hand. “For later. Lubrication makes it easier,” Patrick explains, “I have tried it with spit, but after a certain point, it always leaves me sore.”

Patrick leans back into the pillows, nervously looking at Pete, who smiles reassuringly. Patrick smiles back, and relaxes, his legs falling open a little to reveal the tight pucker between them. He’s so gorgeous, and to trust Pete like that – Patrick has such a good and gentle soul, and if anyone were to abuse that trust, Pete would make sure to punish them.

 

At first, Patrick just touches his dick, gives it some slow pumps, thumb wiping precum over the velvet-smooth head. Pete wants nothing more than to lick it away, but files that desire away for another time.

Finally, Patrick spreads his legs some more, and sucks two fingers into his mouth. Pete watches hungrily how Patrick’s cheeks hollow, how his plump damp lips stretch around his fingers. Afterwards, Patrick lets them wander between his legs again, neglecting his erection this time and instead, circling over his tiny pink hole. Patrick takes a deep breath, then slides the first one in, moaning as he does so. Pete moans with him as he finally touches his own hard dick, eager for some relief.

Not long after, Patrick has worked two fingers into himself. He’s moaning melodically as he keeps sliding them in and out of his spit-wet hole, still stretched tight around the two digits. Too focused on his own pleasure, Patrick has lost all initial shyness, shamelessly groaning and whimpering loudly as he finally finds his prostate; his whole body shivers, and the sounds he makes alone are almost enough to make Pete come.

“I can take more,” Patrick gasps, “but – but as said, I need more than spit to lubricate. Hand me the jar...”

Eagerly, Pete does as told. Patrick sits up a little, makes sure to generously coat three of his fingers in the slick, before he leans back. He gasps as he slides in the third finger, shudders a little, before he relaxes again, allowing his body to open up further.

Pete’s hand is still wrapped around his dick, not daring to move, lest he comes too early. Pete wants to savor any moment, relish in it until the very end, and save his own orgasm for after Patrick’s.

 

“Pete...” The way Patrick moans his name is so insanely arousing. “Pete, I want to feel your hands and lips, have your dick inside of me – I’ve dreamed of it so often...”

Carefully, Pete leans forward, and kisses him. “Then let me make it come true.”

Patrick gasps, heavy-lidded eyes looking longingly at Pete. “I am not sure how to proceed,” he confesses in a small voice, “what do I do? Can I stay like this? Or do I get on all fours?”

“Whatever you wish,” Pete answers him, “but for start, I’d propose something different. Me on my back, with you on top of me. That’ll give you more control over the pace, and over how fast and how much of my cock you want inside of you.”

Patrick nods, and Pete grabs the jar to slick himself up. A moment later, Patrick straddles Pete’s lap, looking a little nervous as he admits: “I am kind of scared to do something wrong.”

“So am I,” Pete whispers, “you’re the prettiest, kindest person I’ve ever been with, and I want to make this good for you – you deserve nothing but the best.”

“You _are_ the best.” Patrick smiles fondly, and Pete grins back at him.

Pete rests his hands on Patrick’s hips, and gives him another kiss. “Go ahead, Patrick. Don’t worry, you can’t really do anything wrong. And if you want to stop at any point, we’ll do so.”

Patrick nods, then takes Pete’s erection into his hand, guides it between his legs. He traces the head of Pete’s cock over his wet, stretched entrance, and Pete feels the gradual give, how Patrick relaxes, allowing him to slide in further and further. He’s tight, and the tiniest bit of nervous tension remains, but Patrick’s expression is wanton as he slowly takes in more of Pete’s cock. Pete doesn’t move, just stares at Patrick in awe, marvels at the beautiful sight, whimpers as he feels more and more of Patrick’s tight heat embracing his cock.

 

Eventually, Pete is all the way in, and Patrick slumps forward, beads of sweat on his brow, breathing heavily. He’s struggling to adjust, but when Pete slides a hand down to Patrick’s own neglected dick, Patrick shakes his head. “Kiss me,” he demands instead, leans forward until they’re chest to chest, face to face, and Pete happily obliges.

“Really, we can stop if it’s too much,” Pete offers worriedly.

“I want this,” Patrick whispers back, “I want you. Just at my own pace. Give me – ah, give me time, and let me try...”

Pete opens his mouth, only to be shushed by Patrick with a kiss. Instead, Pete decides to let his hands wander over Patrick’s body, explores soft ivory skin and his firm thighs, and Patrick gives a loud moan in appreciation. Experimentally, he traces over Patrick’s wings, which jerk back at first, before unfolding. While Pete caresses his body, Patrick moves again, slow and cautiously at first, his wings flapping a few times before folding back. Pete is painfully hard, yearning for more, desperate to move in sync with Patrick; but he knows the little forest spirit is new to this, and he doesn't want to hurt Patrick in any way, even if it might be unintentional.

 

So, Pete focuses on touching Patrick. Rubs over his belly, up to nipples, slides a hand into his fine reddish hair that’s so different from Pete’s own. Pets the soft down that spring from between Patrick’s shoulder blades, traces the hard outline of his spine down to the curve of his ass. This time, Patrick allows Pete to touch his cock, and Pete swiftly strokes him back to full hardness.

“This is starting to feel so good,” Patrick pants after a while, hips rolling in a steady rhythm now, “oh Pete, I – this is better than having merely my own hands...”

“Sure hope so,” Pete says through gritted teeth, and when Patrick laughs, he feels the vibration of it travel through his own body, feels how Patrick tightens around his cock. “It’s going to be even better when I find your prostate...”

“Move then,” Patrick demands with a lustful gleam in his eyes.

At first, Pete is cautious, but Patrick’s hands on his hips urge him to keep pushing into him. Pete follows the lead Patrick sets, always careful not to be too harsh with the inexperienced little forest spirit.

When Pete finally manages to find Patrick’s prostate, Patrick cries out in surprise and pleasure, head tipped back, hands digging into Pete’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Pete doesn't care, he’s too caught up in the moment, too focused on angling his thrusts just right to make Patrick cry out again. Patrick has slowed down, his own hand now on his dick, stroking himself as Pete continues to fuck into him. He’s so tight, keeps clenching down on Pete’s cock each time he brushes against his prostate, and if that wasn’t enough, Patrick is moaning Pete’s name like it’s the prettiest song. It takes all of Pete’s self-restrained to not give in and come on the spot.

A few more more thrusts, a surprised gasp from Patrick, and then Patrick comes, sudden and hard, moaning loudly as he rides out his orgasm. Pete fucks him through it, until Patrick lets go of his spent cock, and slumps forward, resting his forehead against Pete’s. He’s breathing heavily, shivering a little from the strain and overstimulation. Pete motions him to get up, but Patrick shakes his head.

“Come in me,” Patrick says in a trembling, wanton voice, “I want to feel it, Pete.”

That’s enough to tip Pete over the edge – he thrusts into Patrick one last time, tries to bury himself inside his tight wet hole as far as he can as his orgasm hits him, more intense than any before; Pete groans, stars before his inner eye as he spills into Patrick.

 

Afterwards, it takes Pete a moment to get back to reality. Patrick’s expression is dreamy and sated, and he just buries his head in the crook of Pete’s neck, crooning happily. It’s upon Pete to gently urge Patrick to let him pull out to prevent even more soreness. Patrick grumbles a little as Pete slides out of him, but is soothed when Pete slings his arms around him. Exhausted, Pete closes his eyes, only to open them when he feels a soft draught against his cheek. What he sees are gray feathers, and he realizes that Patrick’s wings are unfolded for a tender embrace.

 

Pete waits until Patrick is satisfied and secure enough to sit up again and climb off Pete’s lap. Patrick stretches his limbs, wings included, before laying down next to Pete. Pete stretches out his arm for him to cuddle up, but Patrick seems to have something else on his mind first. He looks down at himself, spreads his legs, fingers tracing over the mess between his legs. “I am so… open,” Patrick whispers, more to himself than to Pete, “and so wet...”

“Let me clean you up,” Pete offers, worried that perhaps, in hindsight, Patrick discovered he didn’t like Pete coming inside of him.

Patrick nods absentmindedly, moans a little as he slides two fingers back inside his slick, stretched hole with ease. Pete’s cock twitches at the sight, and an idea comes to mind.

“Let me clean you up,” he offers again, and Patrick withdraws his hand. He looks slightly confused when Pete moves to sit between his spread legs, and makes a noise of surprise when Pete leans forward to lick a stripe down from Patrick’s spent cock to his leaking entrance.

“What – what is this!” Patrick exclaims, still surprised, but curious. “What are we doing, Pete?”

“Patrick, dear, you just need to lean back and relax,” Pete says with a small grin. “I’ll do all the work for now, all I want you to do is enjoy it. If it gets too much, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Patrick nods, this time, with determination. He leans back into the pillows, and Pete leans forward again, licks another stripe over Patrick’s soft dick, promising himself he will give the forest spirit a real blowjob next opportunity he gets. Then, his tongue trails down over Patrick’s rim, circling his wet hole. Pete relishes how it feels under his tongue, how Patrick tastes of salt and musk because of him. Patrick is open and loose, allowing Pete to slide in his thumbs with ease, keeping Patrick open as Pete keeps eating him out.

Oh, and the noises Patrick makes, those alone would be enough to give Pete another erection. He hasn’t been that quiet before, but not as unhinged as he is now, moaning and whimpering loudly as he pushes back against Pete’s tongue and fingers, babbling about Pete making him feel so good.

 

“I have imagined it,” Patrick gasps, his voice trembling, “sometimes, I – I touch myself after I have come, and it is so weird at first, but then, I…” He interrupts himself, moans again as Pete’s tongue drags over his hole, before Pete withdraws his mouth. Patrick isn’t fully hard yet, but he’s close, his thick cock curving up against his soft belly, caressed by Patrick’s pale fingers.

“We can stop at any point,” Pete says, and no matter how much he yearns for Patrick, he absolutely means it.

Patrick covers his blushing face with his other hand, blue eyes peeking through his fingers. “I do not want you to stop,” he whispers almost inaudibly, “no, I do not want you to stop… Oh Pete, it makes me feel so insatiable – tell me, am I being too strange? I do not wish for you to think badly of me...”

“I would never judge you for your desires. Especially when I share them.” Pete takes great care and effort to sound sincere and reassuring. It’s clear that Patrick is raw and vulnerable right now, allowing Pete to glimpse at his heart and all the doubts and insecurities, all the secret wishes and desires it holds. Pete wants nothing more than to make him happy.

For a few more moments, Patrick is tense, torn between retreating, and trusting Pete completely. When he finally relaxes and lowers his hand to smile sweetly at Pete, Pete feels honored that the little forest spirit decided to reward him with something so precious. Pete swears he will never do anything to hurt him.

Pete brings a hand down to his own growing erection, stroking himself into full hardness as his greedy tongue keeps trailing over Patrick’s rim.

 

Patrick watches eagerly as Pete spreads more lube over his dick, and he even sits up a little so he can see how Pete slowly slides back into him.

Patrick is still loose and wet from their first round and Pete’s tongue, yet Pete takes his time, makes sure it doesn't get too overwhelming for Patrick. Once he has bottomed out, Patrick moves his hand down, fingers tracing over his rim stretched around Pete’s cock. Pete doesn't move, just lets him explore their bodies, feel where they’re connected, adjust at his own pace. Patrick’s a bit twitchy from overstimulation, and it takes a while until he is relaxed and secure enough to allow Pete to move.

They set a slower pace this time, Pete being gentle and patient as Patrick gasps and moans underneath him, clutching his hands into Pete’s back, careful not to accidentally brush against Pete’s injured wing.

Pete doesn’t know who of them comes first, he just feels Patrick’s tight heat, hears his wanton moan, sees how Patrick comes all over his stomach and over Pete’s hand while the intensity of his own orgasm leaves Pete breathless.

 

Patrick mewls a little when Pete pulls out again, his body no doubt at its limits after this unusual strain. There’s a mess of sweat and lube and semen between his legs, his body flushed pink, chest and belly coated in his own cum. Patrick is breathing heavily, and he turns his head away after he looks down at himself, embarrassed.

“Don’t look away,” Pete whispers softly, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I appreciate that, yet I still feel weird,” Patrick mumbles in a small voice. “And I am all sticky and dirty. I would prefer to clean myself up.”

Pete smiles, and nods. He knows he’s a mess as well, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he wouldn’t allow himself to be this open and unrestrained with anyone else. Usually, Pete prefers to hide behind elaborate metaphors, between vague dreams and cryptic words – but he knows that he is totally safe with Patrick, now and always.

Despite Pete offering Patrick to clean him up, Patrick insists on a real bath. He grimaces as he gets up, and he limps a little as he walks over to the tub.

 

As they sit together in the warm water, Patrick rests his head on Pete’s chest. “No one has ever seen me like this,” he mumbles quietly, “and I do not simply mean my naked body, or the sex. I mean...” He makes a helpless gesture with his hand instead of finishing the sentence, but Pete understands him nonetheless.

“Your trust means the world to me.” Pete gently strokes over Patrick’s damp hair, until Patrick looks up to meet his warm amber eyes. “I may have been with others, but never have I laid as bare before anyone as I did before you. I may have been with others, but never to make love like we did.”

“ _Liebe_...” Patrick sighs to himself with a dreamy smile. He repeats the foreign yet familiar word once they’re clean, dried off, and laying in bed together.

 

“ _Liebe_ ,” Patrick says again, looking at Pete with the same dreamy smile as before. “ _Das ist, was ich fühle – Pete, ich liebe dich._ ”

Pete thinks his heart is about to burst. “Does that mean what I think it means?” He asks breathlessly, and the excited kiss from Patrick is answer enough.

“I love you,” Patrick repeats nonetheless between two kisses, “I love you, Pete...”

Those three simple words are more beautiful than any poetry Pete has ever read, and they sound as sweet as Patrick’s most precious songs.

“I love you, too,” Pete says when their lips part again. “It may be winter outside, but in my heart, it’s spring already, and that’s your doing. Love is blossoming in the garden of my soul, and it’s all for you, Patrick...”

Patrick blushes upon Pete’s words, and he laughs lightheartedly as he snuggles closer to Pete. Once more, Patrick’s wings unfold to mimic the tender embrace of his arms. Soft feathers brush over Pete’s skin, and soon after, he holds a sleeping forest spirit in his arms.

Pete thinks himself to be the luckiest of all fairies.

  


The next morning, Pete introduces the little forest spirit to blowjobs. It has Patrick gasping and moaning, hands buried in Pete’s curly hair as Patrick writhes underneath him. When he comes, it tastes of salt and dark earth after a heavy rainfall. Pete makes sure to swallow every bit of it, even licking his lips afterwards, making Patrick blush into a nice shade of pink.

Life in the forest is as busy as ever; Patrick tends to the animals that come visit, and he takes the little robin for a trip outside when he goes to save a group of humans lost in the woods. Pete shudders upon the thought. It is still cold outside, with almost daily snowfall adding to the already high-piled snow that makes it nearly impossible to navigate through the forest, unless one knows the correct paths already. Pete regrets all his pranks, and hopes all the humans he ever sent into the forest made their way home, with or without Patrick’s help.

Home… As much as Pete is enjoying his stay, and as much as he has fallen in love with Patrick, he misses his home, too. He misses his family and friends, they must be worried sick about him knowing their curious fellow fairy went to explore the dangerous woods all by himself, despite all warnings. Now, Pete knows the woods aren’t cursed, he knows the trees aren’t out to keep him captured in their branches forever, he simply didn’t know what was needed to brave its challenges. Luckily, the forest sent him Patrick, but how could anyone back in his village know of that?

When Patrick comes back from his trip, cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed pink from the cold, the robin still not flying but happily sitting on his shoulder, Pete knows home is where the heart is, and a big part of his heart belongs to the little forest spirit now. Still, he voices his concerns over his friends and family back in the village to Patrick, who listens carefully as he shrugs off his scarf, coat, and boots. The little robin keeps clinging to his shoulder, chirping from time to time.

“I will ask one of the birds to deliver a message to them,” Patrick proposes when Pete is done talking. “I am sorry, had I known before, I would have offered it earlier!”

“No, I’m glad you’re offering it at all!” Pete grins, already reaching for his writing material. He tears out a page from his notebook, hastily scribbles a message to his people at home, and adds a reminder to generously feed the bird messenger upon arrival. A collared dove, a beautiful cream-colored bird with beady black eyes and half a ring of black feathers around her neck offers her services. She looks so different from the gray pigeons that Pete is used to see back in his village, and Pete watches her fly off into the cloudy sky after Patrick binds the message to her legs, and feeds her an extra ration of dried berries. The robin on Patrick’s shoulder chirps, but doesn’t try to attempt to fly himself.

 

As the bird disappears on the horizon, Patrick looks more and more melancholic. “One day, that will be you,” he says solemnly, “one day, you will leave as well.”

“I will leave, but I will always come back to you.” Surprised by Patrick’s sudden sadness, Pete slings an arm around his waist, brushes a kiss against Patrick’s temple. Patrick looks down, instead of getting on his toes to reciprocate with a kiss on the mouth, as he so often likes to do. “I have a family,” Pete explains gently, “my mother, my father, and my siblings, all of whom I miss. I have friends, all of whom I’d like to see again. That doesn’t mean I would ever abandon you.”

“It is only fair you get to see them again. I would never ask you to give up the people dearest to you, no matter how great my love for you may be.” Patrick sniffles a little, it both breaks and warms Pete’s heart how selfless the little forest spirit is, even if it causes him pain.

“You are the person dearest to me, silly.” Pete chuckles, and brushes another kiss to Patrick’s heated skin, wiping away a stray tear. “You said you were bound to your territory – say, what does that mean? You’re not trapped in here in the woods forever, are you?”

It’s Patrick’s turn to chuckle, and he wipes away another stray tear. “I can leave, of course. I am not a prisoner. But in the end, the forest granted me my very life, granted me my magic, and gave me the task to take care of it. I could go wherever I want, but I’d fade and get weaker the longer I stay away. And frankly, I’d grow unhappy simply because I am happy to be who I am, where I am – and if I were to leave, who will help the animals, who will make sure spring blooms richly to sustain the fauna, who would take care of a lost little robin?”

As if to underline Patrick’s words, the robin on his shoulders chirps loudly, nudges its little head against Patrick’s cheek to offer comfort.

“I can come visit you. I’d never demand you leave your home, and I’d never ask of you to stop doing what you like and come live as a bird in a golden cage.” Pete is determined, no matter the melancholy in Patrick’s beautiful blue eyes.

Patrick smiles weakly. “Let us not speak of goodbyes.”

  


So, they do not speak of goodbyes again. Instead, Patrick sings for Pete, listens as Pete recites his words and dreams back to him, they trade whispered I love yous and silent kisses. They make love, passionate and intense, explore each other’s bodies with hands and tongue. They share Patrick’s bed, huddled together under the patchwork blankets, bodies pressed close.

Each day holds something special, be it the snowman they build together, the strange dishes Patrick shows Pete how to cook, or simply every tender, love-fueled kiss Patrick gives him. Pete’s body has healed, regained its strength, and eventually, Patrick carefully removes the thin thread he used for patching up Pete’s injured wing. When Patrick sighs in relief, Pete dares to open his wings fully, and look at the injured one. Against all odds, it has healed, and grown back together, sturdy and symmetrical enough to allow Pete to fly again. There’s a scar left, the pattern of the wings slightly disrupted by it, but Pete doesn’t care. Overjoyed, he kisses the little forest spirit until Patrick laughs and blushes so hard, his cheeks look like the potted strawberries on the shelves.

The little robin has grown stronger too, and together with Pete, it makes its first attempts at flying again. Patrick watches them happily, offering the bird some dried berries and Pete a kiss for their success. The kiss is bittersweet, and Patrick’s smile is drenched with the sadness of knowing he’ll need to say goodbye to both the bird and the fairy soon. No matter what sweet words Pete whispers into his ear, the sadness won’t leave.

And then, the day comes when the sky is blue and the snow has started to melt, and Pete knows he needs to go home. Upon telling Patrick so, the little forest spirit seems sad, but not surprised. He simply offers Pete clothes and provisions for the journey, for which Pete is rather grateful. He has been wearing more and more of Patrick’s stuff anyway, given that Pete didn’t have more than one set of clothes on him when he walked into the forest that fateful winter’s day. As strange as the garments of the forest spirit seem to Pete, he’s gotten used to them, even grown fond of some, like of the big knitted scarf Patrick made himself, or the wool coat a human once left behind in the woods. They pack bread and cheese and some of the berries from the plants that Patrick keeps in his little cottage, which only bear fruits already because of the forest spirit’s magic nourishing them. Patrick takes the little robin with them, which ends up sitting on Pete’s shoulder.

 

Walking through the snow is still a difficult task for Pete, but with the scarf and coat keeping him warm and with Patrick at his side, who knows every path in and out, the journey isn’t the nightmare Pete remembered it to be. In fact, it is quite serene, with the beautiful scenery of the quiet forest around them, glittering white snow under their feet, the occasional bird or deer passing by to greet Patrick. They hold hands for the entire time, and while they don’t talk much, Patrick sings Pete his favorite songs.

At the edge of the forest, Patrick stops. “This path will lead you to your village. Follow it, and you will have no trouble reaching home.”

“I’ll take you with me one day,” Pete says, “for a visit, so you can meet my people, and see the way I live. I shall return your hospitality!”

Patrick simply shakes his head. “You have no obligation to do so, and you should know that I do not need any payment for my kindness.”

“It’s not to pay back a debt. It’s because I love you, and I want to share this beautiful world with you.”

“I love you, too.” Patrick’ squeezes Pete’s hand. “But we are from different worlds. For the past winter, we have lived in a dream, and it was the most beautiful dream I have ever head. I would like to dream that again. But when you wake up, you might find it may not be compatible with reality.”

“Weaving dreams might be my duty,” Pete says, kisses Patrick’s pretty lips, “but for you, I’ll make them all come true.”

“I have given you my everything,” Patrick says with a small smile, “do with it as you wish, I will hold no grudge. Every spring, the forest comes back to life, blooms and blossoms, turns death and decay into vivid beauty – my heart will grow back the same way.”

“It won’t need to,” Pete assures him, “I won’t break it.”

Patrick’s smile widens a little, impossible to tell if he actually believes the fairy. The little robin chirps, and jumps back onto Patrick’s shoulder.

“I will come back,” Pete says stubbornly. “When I do so, how will I find you? Which path do I take? Where do I go?”

“I cannot tell you, for there is no definite answer, and no clear path to follow.” Patrick shakes his head. “I can only be found if one not only looks for me, but also wants to find me.”

Although he wishes there was an easier way, Pete nods. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I very much want to find you again.”

They share one last kiss, before Pete has to turn around to follow the path back to his village. When he looks back after a while, the forest has already hidden Patrick from his view.

  


 

 

Pete makes it home safely, and his arrival garners quite the attention – he’s back after so long, with all his limbs and skin still attached, but a scar on his formerly pristine, perfectly symmetrical wing. Pete’s clothes, while clean, needed to be patched up, and he’s wearing the wool scarf and warm jacket Patrick lent him, causing much confusion, amused chatter, and some laughter. Pete’s mother and father are overjoyed to have their son back, hugging him and kissing him while his siblings dance around them, trying to catch a glimpse of their lost brother and bombarding him with questions about how he survived the scary forest, where his strange clothes come from, why his wing is hurt – it’s a lot to take in for Pete.

Much to his dismay, Pete notices not everyone is that friendly. All fairies are naturally curious, but not everyone is as reckless as Pete, and not everyone approves of his little adventure. Behind his back, they accuse him of abandoning his duty as a dream weaver, call him a fool for wandering into the forest, and laugh at his strange clothes and his even stranger tales of helpful little forest spirits.

 

Pete doesn't care for their hurtful attitude. All he wants is to go back to Patrick.

 

The council of the Eldest is not happy to hear that Pete intends to go back into the dangerous forest, and go live with a strange forest spirit and not one of his own kind. But Pete is determined. He speaks of Patrick’s kindness and his wholesome heart, tells them stories of how the little forest spirit saved his live without wanting anything in return. He speaks of beauty and love. He shows them the marvelous dreams he has written during his stay with Patrick, countless magical stories about the etheral beauty of the forest and its inhabitants, about the songs of the birds, colorful feathers, quiet winter nights, and love. 

 

While his fellow fairies remain cautious, they’re also curious to see if Pete speaks the truth.

 

It takes Pete three days to make up for the dreams he’s missed, and to see all his family and friends that have been worried about him. The days are filled with laughter and chattering, with his mother patting his head or feeding him cookies, with his friends and siblings listening to his strange stales and admiring the dreams Pete has come up with when he stayed with the little forest spirit.

Finally, on the fourth day, Pete grabs Patrick’s scarf and the jacket he lent him, packs some of his mother’s finest cookies and pastries, his notebook, and hurries off as soon as his family has bid their goodbye and made him promise to send a messenger bird as soon as possible – or perhaps, bring the mysterious little forest spirit with him.

 

The way to the forest is familiar by now. The sky is blue, not a single cloud obstructing the cold winter sun. The snow is mostly gone, the new life beneath it ready to break through and fill the world with color again. Pete keeps his wings safely tucked to his body, even though no threat of a storm is visible today – just to be safe.

As he walks through the forest, he realizes he doesn't know where to find Patrick. Everything looks different now that the snow has melted and spring is ready to take over soon. Unlike the little forest spirit, Pete isn’t familiar with the paths through the woods. Every time before, Pete ran into Patrick by accident, or Patrick found him when Pete called for help.

Still, Pete walks on. Pete has given it his everything – his heart, his words, his very own dream, he won’t lose courage. He is going to find Patrick, no matter what. If not, he will wander through the woods until the forest spirit finds _him_.

Pete doesn’t know how long he has been walking. The sun is setting soon, night will come, and he is barely prepared to spend it outside in the woods. He has food and clothes, but no idea how to seek shelter or start a fire.

Still, Pete walks on. He needs to find Patrick, even if it’s just to be rejected. His heart is aching to see the little forest spirit again, no matter what price the forest makes Pete pay for that.

 

It comes unexpected as always – one more step, and Pete finds himself at a small glade, hidden from his view until he literally stepped into it.

 

Patrick is sitting on a tree stump, surrounded by his usual bird friends, petting a deer and her fawn. A stag stands a few feet behind, feeding on a fresh patch of grass that must’ve been the result of Patrick’s magic – the little forest spirit must be busy ensuring spring is coming soon.

It takes him a moment to notice Pete. The animals notice him first, and while the deer and her fawnseek safety behind the antlers of the stag, they do not flee. Instead, the stag steps closer, ready to launch at the intruder, and he’s joined by the hawk that jumps from Patrick’s shoulder, wings spread, trying to intimidate. It seems not only the songbirds are willing to help Patrick out.

“ _Pete, du bist es_ ,” Patrick whispers almost inaudibly.

“It’s me,” Pete says, holding back a joyful scream or sudden gestures. The animals notice Patrick’s distress, and should Pete anger or scare him, they’ll no doubt defend the forest spirit. “I wanted to meet you again so badly, and even though I didn’t know how to find you, I knew I’d never keep looking for you, always.”

“Have you already forgotten?” Patrick stands up, gestures towards the animals to calm them. “I can only be found if one not only looks for me, but also wants to find me.”

“I wanted to find you,” Pete says, “but I also have to fulfill my duties back home, and wanted to see friends and family that I’ve been absent from for so long.”

Patrick blushes a little, and looks down to the ground. “Forgive my doubts. I should have trusted you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Pete dares to step closer to Patrick. The animals around him hesitate for a moment; but then, the deer leave, and the hawk flies back into the tree, sensing that the little forest spirit is safe with Pete. “I kept my promise, and I never intend to break it. I love you, and I’ll always come back to find you, no matter how long it might take me. We made it through the winter together, and I am sure we will master any other season together as well. My village is not too far away, I can easily travel whenever I miss my family and friends – who would love to meet you, by the way, they’re all curious to see the little forest spirit I praised so highly.”

 

Patrick blushes further, muttering something about Pete exaggerating while he takes Pete’s hand.

 

“I love you,” Pete repeats softly, squeezes Patrick’s hand. “I love you, and I want to be with you – if that’s what you want…”

“ _Alberne kleine Fee! Wo ich dich doch ebenfalls von ganzem Herzen liebe!_ ” Patrick squeezes back, and looks at him with the brightest smile. “I love you, too, my silly little fairy. Oh, stay with me, nothing could make me any happier. Spring, summer, autumn or winter, every season will be marvelous as long as you are at my side.”

“I can’t wait,” Pete whispers, “yes, I can’t wait to see, hear, feel and experience all these new things with you together!”

Patrick laughs, and then he gets up on his toes to kiss Pete.

When they part, Pete looks around to see all the snow around them has melted, and that instead of white, there’s lush green and colorful blooming flowers. Birds are chirping eagerly, and a very familiar robin lands on Patrick’s shoulder, greets them with a loud chirp.

 

Spring has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Liebe,”[...]. “ Das ist, was ich fühle – Pete, ich liebe dich. ” - "Love. That'*s what I am feeling - Pete, I love you."
> 
> "Pete, du bist es..." - "Pete, it's you..."
> 
> "Alberne kleine Fee! Wo ich dich doch ebenfalls von ganzem Herzen liebe!" - "Silly little fairy! I love you with all my heart!"
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please consider leaving a little comment - it would mean so much to me!~

**Author's Note:**

> "Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten [...]" : [wiki link to the song translation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Die_Gedanken_sind_frei)
> 
> "Willkommen, Fremder,” [...] “Ich bin Patrick, der hiesige Waldgeist. Du suchtest mich, und fandest mich – sprich, was ist dein Begehr?" - Welcome, stranger! My name is Patrick, and I am the local forest spirit. You looked for me, and you found me – tell me, what is it you desire?
> 
> "Ah! Welch ein erfreuliches Wiedersehen!" - How nice to see you again!
> 
> "Ein Vogel wollte Hochzeit machen in dem grünen Walde. Fidiralala, fidiralala, fidiralalalalala! Die Drossel war der Bräutigam, die Amsel war die Braute ..." - German sing called Die Vogelhochzeit - The Bird Wedding. "A bird of the green forest wanted to get married. Fidiralala, fidiralala, fidiralalalalala! The blackbird is the groom, the thrush is the bride..." Sadly, it seems no full translation is available. Check it out on YT though. 
> 
> "Der Mond ist aufgegangen" - [wiki link to the song translation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Mond_ist_aufgegangen)
> 
> "Es wäre mir ein Vergnügen..." - It would be my pleasure.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Check back next week for part 2 :)
> 
> Leave me a little comment, it would mean the world to me!~


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